Forever and Always
by Nervous.Laugh
Summary: And I realise that the pain in my chest is actually my heart, and that I am not dying, I am just incurable. AH/AU/OOC.
1. Age Five

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_October, 1993_

Age five. Age five, it's the age when you're fearless, you're irrational, brave, determined, proud. Age five, it's the age when looks don't matter, it's the only age when what's on the inside counts.  
Yet age five, you're still convincing your father to look under the bed for monsters. You're still running to your mother for guidance, hugging her leg whilst you peer solemnly up into her eyes. Age five is when you still believe in fairies and angels and Santa Clause. Age five is when everything is simple.

When you're five you have a thick, secure blanket fastened over your world, it blocks out everything harmful, it protects you from the bad. It keeps you away from the truth. But when you get older, the blanket begins to fray, it develops holes, until there are gaps big enough for some truth to seep in. Some of the horrors of humanity are able to climb into your world.

When you're five, that blanket you have, it's called innocence.

.

I giggled loudly, tying a loop in his laces. "Hold still, Em!" I commanded. I was forever trying to teach him how to tie a bow.

'_Build a tee pee  
Come inside  
Close it tight so we can hide  
Over the mountain  
And around we go  
Here's my arrow  
And here's my bow!'_

I stood up, raising my eyes to my reflection. I was a vision. I was just like my mother, an identical copy. I gazed admirably at my mother's bright red lipstick, smashed crudely over my lips. I weighed the slithers of beads that adorned my wrists and neck in my hands, the tight blonde ringlets of my hair getting caught in between the gold and plastic string.

My eyes slid over to the other person taking up half the mirror. Emmett. My father's tie slung wearily around his neck, his hair parted and gelled. His feet stuffed forcefully into the nine-sizes-too-large shoes.

We were five, playing Mothers and Fathers and were innocent.

I was five, still believed in boy-germs, that the world was perfect, that a certain boogie-man occupied the underside of my mattress and that miracles _did_come true.

Emmett and I were best friends, I loved him like a brother and he adored me like a sister.

God, weren't we innocent?


	2. Age Six

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_January, 1994_

Turning six this year. Do you remember being six? It was the year we started school, it was the year we grew up a little.

Do you remember our first day of school? You cried because you missed your mum. Do you remember how I stole Nathan Lawrence's lunchbox, because my father had forgotten to make me a sandwich? Do you remember how much trouble we got in?

We were six, we were young and foolish. Stupid and obnoxious. We were six and the admirable notion of cooties was still fresh in our minds.

.

We walk up the path together, hand in hand. Rosalie skips along happily, her piggy-tails spiralling up behind her, creating a halo of golden hair. I drag my feet along the footpath; my shoulders slumped from the weight of my new backpack. I kick a loose stone.

Rosalie's humming silently to herself; I admire the happiness she is able to feel.

_We're nearly there_, I muse myself. Only a few steps till I'm able to pass the dilapidated, rusty gate. Only a few steps until I'm in my personal prison of education. Our hands drop and Rosalie heads towards our tree, I follow her.

_Our tree._

It's not really our tree. It was planted years and years ago, before we were born. I like people who are able to plant trees, plants that they won't see mature in their lifetime. It's a real selfless act to plant a tree, you do it for future generations. You don't do it for yourself.

Our tree is situated behind the school library. It's on the edge of out-of-bounds, yet not quite considered forbidden. We're not supposed to climb trees at school; the bigger kids always yell at us, they tell us to stop mucking around. The teachers always say we'll fall and hurt ourselves. Our tree is . . . wise. I trust it, I could whisper it secrets and know that they would be safe. Its smooth bark and grey-green leaves rustle the sound of a thousand lifetimes. Our tree has lived through it all; it's seen magical battles and protected brave knights. It's sheltered dragons and princesses. Our tree is secret. If you climb to the very top, where all the thin, unstable branches are and your head is above the clouds and you can see all the way to the other side of the world, it's beautiful. It's amazing. It's safe and secret up there.

I haul myself up on one of the low, strong branches; I graze my left knee as I bump it against a piece of stray bark. I sit next to Rosalie, our shoulders touching.

I'm at peace.

Rosalie's eyes slide over to mine and I smile, dramatically grabbing the branch. I see her eyes form that of horror.

"No," she whispers, but it is too late. I stupidly, _stupidly_ shake the branch that her weight is leaning on. She grips the trunk like it is her life-support and I laugh.

"You scared?" I ask, giving the branch another big rumble. She glares at me; her face white with shock.

"Emmett, don't be stupid," she admonishes. I laugh cruelly and shake the branch again.

It was stupid of me, I should have known better. Rosalie reaches over to push me, but as she removes her hand from the tree she loses her balance. And gravity takes over. And Rosalie begins to fall.

.

I watch silently as her body plummets through the air, her hair splayed around her, her blue eyes wide and staring. I don't move, I don't yell out. I am completely motionless, only the slight swaying of the tree stopping me from turning into a statue.  
Rosalie's body is approaching the ground fast, too fast. I watch from my safe position as her body smashes into the dirt. Her expression doesn't change; her eyes are wide and staring. She does not even move.

.

We were six, do you remember? It was the year I thought I killed you.

We were six, do you remember? It was the year you forgave me; it was the year you proved just how strong our friendship is.

Because that's what we had, right? Only a friendship.


	3. Age Eight

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_June, 1996_

We're eight. Do you remember when we were eight? It was the year we had that stupid, ridiculous fight.

Do you remember? It was something to do with you hanging out with a bunch of boys I didn't like. I don't know, it was stupid, it was irrational. It ripped a hole in our innocence blanket, causing a spill of evil, bad emotions to fill the gaps.

Do you remember when we were eight?

.

"I don't like you hanging out with those people, Em." My voice was whining, droning in my ears.

"Well, I'm sorry Ro_sie,_but you don't really get to pick who I am and aren't friends with."

I stared up into his brown eyes, his jaw jutted out. My hands were forced onto my hips as I glared up at him. "Don't call me that," I whispered through my teeth, spitting the word at him.

"Don't tell me what to do," he countered back.

"Don't call me Rosie then."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

My face was inches from his, my eyes were fuming, two angry red spots appearing on my cheeks. "Don't talk to me," I told Emmett, turning on my heel.

He stood still, his arms hanging limply by his side. "Good, I never wanted to be your friend anyway. I hate you, you're a bitch!"

I flinched back from the curse-word. It seemed to vibrate all around the school. It hit me quite suddenly, quite unexpectedly. I had no friends. Emmett was my one and only friend. And now, I had lost him as well. I had turned my back on the world, on civilisation.

Loneliness entered the security blanket.

.

Do you remember when we were eight, Emmett? You didn't talk to me for a week. I sat in our tree as I watched you run around with your new friends, your new life. I let my feet drag along the ground as I swang off the branches, watching you kick around a ball. I watched you laugh and smile and joke.

And God, Emmett, do you realise how jealous I was? I wanted to know the secret, I wanted to know the secret to friendship. I wanted to know how you did it. How you fit in so easily.

Do you remember when we were eight? I was lining up at the canteen, cowering away from the big kids as they pushed each other aside, yelling and hitting, screaming and hurting. And I saw you, two places ahead of me. You looked at me, do you remember Emmett? Do you remember the look you gave me?  
You smiled, but it was a sad smile. It was as though you realised that our friendship was over. Our lifelong friendship over just because of some stupid, arrogant fight!

But do you remember Emmett? Remember how I smiled back and suddenly everything was all right? You offered me a spot in the line, and I took it. I went before you and I bought the last pie. But you wanted the pie and . . .

Do you remember when we were eight, Emmett? That was the year we learned to share.

_Author's Note: My inner eight-year-old is to blame for the theatrics. Also for the constant change of tense. It's having an identity crisis._


	4. Age Ten

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_September, 1998_

We were ten. We were ten and thought we were on top of the world. We thought we had humanity twisted 'round our little pinkie. We thought we knew everything and anything, we talked back to adults, we rolled our eyes at the little kids. We were ten; we thought we were the greatest things on God's earth.

.

You got your first boyfriend when you were ten. Do you remember, Rosalie? I think his name was Michael. You were infatuated with him, you wrote 'Mrs. Rosalie Smith,' all over your books. I'd try to have a conversation with you and it would always end up in you talking about Michael. Do you remember when we were ten? You wrote a song about the boy who broke your heart.

I didn't say anything at the time, I regret that now. I was insanely jealous. Not only because you had a boyfriend and I didn't have a girlfriend, but also because I think, deep, deep down, I was in love with you.

Who knows, perhaps you were in love with me too.

.

Michael Smith. Obnoxious kid. The kind of guy who got his own way all the time. I don't know what you saw in him. He was the one with the black hair and upturned nose; he was the one always chewing the gum with his mouth open. I hated him; I loathed him with a passion.

Do you remember when we were ten, Rosalie?

Maybe you don't even remember Michael Smith. He was the guy I beat up when he broke your heart, remember? You came home crying, you ran to my house, you didn't want your parents to know that you'd had a boyfriend without their knowledge. And you ran into my arms and I held you, do you remember? I let you cry into my shirt until it was soaking wet, and I promised myself, I promised myself that I would never let a boy hurt you. I'd never let a boy lay a finger on you.

_But Rosalie, I'm scared that_I'm _the boy who's hurting you._

_._

Do you remember when we were ten? It was the year I fell in love.


	5. Age Eleven

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_April, 1999_

Eleven. You think you're so much more mature in comparison to when you were ten. You look down upon the children, you laugh at their idiocy. You think you're above the world. You know your innocence blanket? It's beginning to fray. You're about to be a teenager, and innocence is hard to keep.

.

Do you remember when we were eleven, Emmett? We all had our own separate groups, or own cliques. You sat with your boys, I sat with my girls. Eleven – the year of social consciousness. The populars, the jocks, the nerds. Stupid, ridiculous, painful.

And you had no issue with our separation, Emmett. You were perfectly content with simply hanging out outside of school – you saw no issue in ignoring me during lessons.

Do you remember when we were eleven, Emmett? We hardly talked at all.

.

Life was average. I was fucking gorgeous – and I knew it. I had a glamorous life, okay grades, friends and admirers. I was proud and ignorant, arrogant and blissful. I labelled and I judged and I was revered for it. In my obscene insecurity, I had found my calling.

And do you remember when we were eleven, Emmett? I had tripped one afternoon, grazed my knee. And I cried. God, I was such a baby. And do you remember, Emmett, do you remember how you helped me home?

You were the knight, and I was the princess.

You were my knight, Emmett.

And they lived happily ever after, right?


	6. Age Thirteen

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_January, 2001_

Thirteen. Do you remember what it was like to be thirteen? It was horrible. It was the year we went to high school; it was the year we got separated.

Do you remember, Rosalie, how our parents split us up? Do you remember? You were going to that smart school, that posh, expensive place. Do you remember Rosalie? I wasn't good enough for you.

.

Thirteen. It's an odd age. You're so used to being the leader, to being the oldest, the coolest, the biggest. You have free will over the play ground; you boss all the younger kids around. You're in grade six, people trust you, people admire you. Hell, even the teachers treat you like you're a real human being.

And then high school comes.

You're the new kid in an old, well established knit of people. You're young and small, stupid and ignorant. Everybody hates you; the older kids go out of their way to push you, to make your life a living misery. Do you remember when we were thirteen?

Do you remember, Rosalie? We hardly spoke at all.

.

I remember catching the bus, it was crowded. Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue, I would have pushed one of the nine year olds off, I would have stolen a second-grader's seat. But when you're the new kid in a big school, everything's so much more daunting. Everybody seems to glare at you, to watch you with their poisonous eyes.

I didn't get a seat that day, Rosalie. I walked.

.

Do you remember when we were thirteen? We hardly saw each other. You went off to your rich school with all your obnoxious friends. And me? Rosalie, I was just the poor boy with no friends.

Do you remember when we were thirteen, Rosalie? I do.

It was horrible.


	7. Age Fourteen

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_July, 2002_

Fourteen. It's the forgotten year, the year that nobody talks about. Do you remember when we were fourteen, Emmett? You got that new girlfriend, the snobby one from your public school. Do you remember when we were fourteen, Emmett? It was the year I learned jealousy. It was the year I learned hate. It was the year my innocence blanket almost slipped away, the onslaught of emotions too much to handle.

Do you remember when we were fourteen, Emmett? It was the year I decided I loved you.

.

You struggled towards the gate; invisible shadows making you stoop under the weight of it all. You were fourteen, grade eight. Not for the first time in your life you began to regret your decisions. I remember you running to me; do you remember when you ran away from home, Emmett? You ran to me, you wanted to come to my school. You wanted us to have our education together.

I remember how I laughed at you, rolling my eyes and snorting with disgust. I pretended I didn't care, I pretended I didn't like you. But you know what, Emmett? I thought the idea was worthy of a fucking medal.

Fourteen, the year of insecurities. I didn't know which groups to hang out with, I didn't know which people I was allowed to socialise with. What if I made friends with the wrong people? What if you judged me by my friends, or lack-there-of?

High school was such a dramatic change, I was so used to sitting with you, I was so used to being able to run to you. Do you remember when we were fourteen, Emmett?

It was the year you weren't there for me.

It was the year the distance grew.

You had your friends and I had mine. And maybe, maybe you were okay with this.

Do you remember when we were fourteen, Emmett? It was the year I thought I lost you.


	8. Age Sixteen

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_August, 2004_

Sixteen. What a ridiculously difficult year. The year of revenge and hate and self-absorbency. It was one of the more defining years. It was the year I met _her._

Her name was Apryl and she was everything I was not. She was perfect. Auburn hair, huge grey eyes. She was bubbly and smart, always on the go. In a way, well in a way I guess she was just a replacement of Rosalie.

.

Fourth period - maths. That was the day she walked in to my life. She wouldn't notice me for another two weeks, but during those fourteen days I planned, I plotted running into her, I planned to get noticed. Do you remember when we were sixteen, Rosalie? It was the year I almost, for a split second, forgot about you.

Apryl was the type of girl who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, she spoke up for what she stood for, yet she was subtle and kind and . . . she was, in my eyes, perfect. And she was completely and utterly _mine._Or at least, she would be.

Do you remember when we were sixteen, Rosalie? It was the year I fell for that bitch, it was the year I met and fell – in the truest sense of the word - for a girl, a seemingly insignificant girl. It was the year I made _the_mistake, but of course I was sixteen, and I wouldn't realise this for another five years. Do you remember when we were sixteen, Rosalie? It was the year my innocence blanket developed flaws, it was the year I became completely oblivious to the truth.

.

She looked up at me from beneath her thickly set lashes, her grey eyes reflecting the world like mirrors. She smiled slowly, 'hello,' she had whispered. I remembered forcing my lips into a similar smile.

Do you believe in love at first sight, Rosalie? I thought I did, the moment I saw Apryl, I thought _'this is the one, this is her,'_but now I'm not so sure. Love can be extremely misleading. You think you have everything perfect, you think you have everything going for you, and then you find out that that special someone isn't really your special someone and everything, _everything_you had lived for up until that point had been a lie. Everything comes crashing down and there is nobody to catch you.

Do you remember when we were sixteen, Rosalie? It was the year that I _did_believe in love at first sight, just not with Apryl, love at first sight with _you._

_You,_Rosalie, because you were the one.


	9. Age Eighteen

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_February, 2006_

Age eighteen. Nothing will stop you when you're eighteen. You're rebellious, you play your own game, you make your own rules. Age eighteen, you don't listen to anybody else. Age eighteen is when you think you have everything; you think everything's going for you. You're in the prime of your life. You don't listen to the others; you don't let their advice get at you. Age eighteen, it was the year I fell; it was the year I bruised. It was the year that reality came slamming down.

.

Do you remember when we were eighteen, Emmett? It was the year I thought I'd lost you. It was the year I thought I'd lost myself. Do you remember when we were eighteen, Emmett? It was the year I almost, almost gave up everything.

There are times in one's life when one feels alone. Well and truly alone. There are times when you wonder, is there truly anyone that actually understands you? Is there anyone out there that can vaguely even sympathize with you? There were times, once, that I wondered if anybody actually understood me. There were times when I questioned everything.

But then I realised, Emmett, that _you_understood me, that you just _got_ me. That you just . . . knew.

.

When I was eighteen, I killed a baby dragonfly. I thought it was a mosquito. I was swimming through the clear, cool water of my pool when I spied the insect, resting on the pavers. I hit it. I killed it. So much power.

And when I discovered that it was a dragonfly, I felt remorse, I felt pain. But why was I so willing to kill a mosquito? Why would, if the bug turned out to be a mosquito, that have made everything better? Did I feel bad because I had killed something pretty, something beautiful, or did I feel bad because I had killed something so harmless, so innocent? Or did I feel bad because I had killed something that humanity viewed as good?

And who are we to say what is good, and what is bad? Who am I to kill a mosquito? How is it my decision to choose what insect gets to live, and which insect deserves to die? When I was eighteen, I killed a baby dragonfly. And I began to question everything that I had ever been taught.

Who am I to end something's life? That choice is not up to me.

Do you remember when we were eighteen, Emmett? It was the year we parted ways.

.

Her name was Apryl. I don't know what you saw in her. She was ordinary, plain. She had no personality, she had no obvious strengths. She was the complete opposite of you, Emmett. She was as bland as you were individual.

But there was something about her, something about her that I didn't like. She had the air of somebody who thought that they were superior. She had the air of, . . . she had an attitude of that as though she didn't care about other people. Below her 'good girl' demeanour, she only had her best interests at heart. I did not like her Emmett, and as you would find out, I had good reason not to. I did not trust her, Emmett. I did not trust you.

Do you remember when we were eighteen, Emmett? Our innocence blanket was nothing but a few threads, carelessly strung together.

And I did not like that, Emmett. I did not like that one bit.


	10. Age Nineteen

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_January,__2007_

Nineteen. The beginning of the end. Is there a beginning to an end? Or is there just an end? I think maybe I used to know the answer to that.

Nineteen. Do you remember when we were nineteen, Rosalie? We didn't know it at the time, but it was the year we wasted, the year we ruined.

.

Do you remember when we were nineteen, Rosalie? You had that boyfriend, what was his name? Michael? Leo? Thomas? You had so many, I could never keep up. You were getting a name for yourself. Do you remember when we were nineteen, Rosalie? It was the year they talked about you; they talked about you behind your back. They called you a slut; they taunted you, ridiculed you. They belittled you. I didn't like it, Rosalie. I didn't like it at all.

Sometimes I say things that I don't mean, I lie, or I cover up truths. Is there a difference between lying and covering up a truth? Perhaps. I lied to your face; I lied to you about Apryl. I told you that we had broken up, I had told you that it was over.

But it wasn't over, Rosalie, and that's where I stuffed up. I told you that Apryl and I had gone our separate ways. I thought that maybe you would stop going out with random, arrogant, revolting men. I thought that maybe you'd see the light; I thought maybe the jealousy would stop. Because you _were_jealous, Rosalie. You were jealous of what Apryl and I had. Or what I thought me and Apryl had. You were jealous of love, Rosalie. And that, well that's pretty dangerous territory.

_._

Do you remember when we were nineteen, Rosalie? You had so many boyfriends; you had your heart broken so many times. Do you remember when we were nineteen, Rosalie? It was the year you changed; you changed into some unrecognizable, revolting teenager. You were no longer my best friend; you were no longer the girl that I had grown up with. You changed, Rosalie. And I did not like it.

Nineteen. The year before the end. The beginning of the end. Do you remember when we were nineteen, Rosalie? It was the year you changed. The year I thought I had left you behind. The innocence was almost sufficiently gone.

And there was no going back.

Nineteen. The beginning of the end. The beginning of a completely new life.


	11. Age Twenty

_I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Forever and Always**

_September, 2008_

Twenty. You're twenty, you're an adult, you're mature, responsible. You think you're on top of the world; you can march wherever you want. Your bodies are invincible, your minds unconquerable. You have power, you have independence. You party hard, you sleep late, you abuse your health. You're young, you're foolish, you're terrifying. Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the end, the end of everything. Twenty, it was the year the truth was exposed, the year our lies killed us. In every, _every_sense of the word.

.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? I presume you would, it was a pretty important year, pretty significant.

They say when you die, Emmett, that your life flashes before your eyes. But I don't believe this. Those moments before death comes for you, those cold, silent seconds, you look at yourself; you look at your life. You examine the time of during your birth till your death and you realise that the years of your childhood, you have experienced the world, your innocence has been tainted, your memories, dreams fulfilled. You have developed, grown, experienced. And those moments, those moments of waiting for death, of sitting in the dark, you decide. You decide for yourself, are you proud of your efforts? Did you live life to the fullest? Do you have regrets?

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year I decided that, yeah, I _was _proud of my life, I was proud of what I had become, of what I had grown up to be. And that? Well that's pretty amazing.

.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? Surely you would, it was quite a memorable year, a year of . . . change. Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett?

It was the year we died.

.

My heels clacked self-importantly on the tiles, my posture high, my lips pursed. The blonde ringlets curled graciously around my shoulder blades, my red dress barely skimming my thighs, barely covering the underwear. _Slut, whore_, they whispered. But I was neither of those; I was merely a small, terrified girl. Afraid of the world, afraid of the consequences.  
I approached the white door, the handle standing to attention, sparkly amongst the bright light. 'Hello?' I had called, afraid of a response, afraid of no response. I winced as my voice echoed around the walls, bouncing off of the roof.

Four, three, two steps away. My neat hand lifted graciously, pushing slightly on the handle.

I remember the next part; it sticks with me, imprinted in my mind. 'Oh, Apryl,' I had sighed, looking at the young girl.

.

People judge me, they judge me on appearances, attitude. They don't take the time, that's what hurts the most. If you stood me, Rosalie Hale, against Apryl Sawyer, you would scoff, you would snarl, you would judge. Innocent Apryl, kind Apryl, calm Apryl. Arrogant Rosalie, snob Rosalie, scary Rosalie. I'd lost all ties to my family; I'd lost any nonexistent friends. All I had was Emmett, and even him I was beginning to lose. I had nothing, I didn't have pride, I didn't have wits. I had given up long, long ago. You judge me against Apryl Sawyer, and you'd end up very, very wrong.

Apryl, liar. Apryl, cheater. Apryl, conniving bitch.

Rosalie, afraid. Rosalie, alone. Rosalie, hopeless.

Sometimes you have to dig deeper, sometimes you have to sit down with a person, find out about them, learn their past. Sometimes you have to _try;_sometimes you have to have patience. I've done wrong, I have regrets. But sometimes you have to move on, sometimes you have no choice.

.

I took in the scene before my eyes. Apryl, her hands all over a man. A man who was not at all that of Emmett. A stranger, a cheater. This girl, this girl with red hair and grey eyes, was not at all of who she appeared to be. This girl was the real Apryl Sawyer, this liar, this cheater, this sinner.

'Fuck off,' Apryl had whispered, her voice mocking, full of venom. And I took those charming words of advice as I left the room, leaving her behind, leaving her to the past. I ran, I ran for Emmett, I ran for truth, I ran for childhood, I ran for innocence.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year we discovered the truth. The year that I was proved right. Apryl was not to be trusted; she was a liar, a judger, a user. This innocent, calm, kind girl was nothing but smoke and mirrors. Set up to ruin people's lives.

.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year that you believed your little _friend_over me, you believed her over me, over your best friend, your life long friend. The only friend who cared enough to tell. The only friend who took the time to tell you the truth.

.

'Emmett,' I had sobbed, I had one broken heel, mud covered my legs, my dress, my pride. 'Emmett,' I had screamed, reaching the broad man. I slammed into him, grabbing his shirt, forcing him to turn, to face me. And then it hit me, just like that. Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year I realised that you had, that we both, had grown up. That we'd changed, morphed, developed. We were no longer five year olds, swinging our legs from trees, no longer ten year olds with minor crushes, thirteen year olds with ego issues, sixteen year olds with appearance problems. We were adults, we were mature, we were alive.

'Rosalie?' Emmett had frowned, looking down at my face, the smudged make up, the damaged pride. 'Rose, what's wrong?' his face was so full of childish concern, so full of innocent hurt. 'Is Apryl hurt?'

That was his first question, his first inquiry. Intent on hurting me, intent on killing me. 'She's . . . she's with a man, Michael, the b-biology guy.' My throat was stuck, the words not forming properly.

.

Sometimes it's easier to lie. Sometimes it's better to avoid the truth. It hurts less people, it can save a life. Sometimes the truth kills. It kills in the most literalist sense of the word. The truth killed me, the truth killed Emmett. Sometimes I look back at that day, that day of when we were twenty, and I question myself. Did I do you right thing? Would life be better off if I had just kept the secret?

And every time my reply is yes, I did the right thing.

Because if I didn't admit the truth, than Emmett would be living a lie. And living a lie really isn't living at all.

.

'She's cheating on you,' I had blurted out, face colouring. _She's lying to you.  
_

'No.' That was what Emmett had said. No. As if that would make everything better, everything okay. As if by refusing to believe would force all the shit stuff away. That's living in ignorance, that's living, in a sense, a lie. 'You fucking cow,' Emmett had whispered, already turning away, already turning his back. Already forgetting all about me. Me, his best friend.

I looked at him, gaze dropping, heart thudding.

'You've always been jealous of Apryl, always. Sometimes I pretended as though the emotion wasn't there, as though everything was normal. You've always been jealous of Apryl, you were _never, ever_happy for me. Happy for what I had. You never _once_asked me how Apryl was, you never once attempted to get to know her. You're a cow, an arrogant snob. You've changed, man. You were never happy for me, always thinking of yourself. You're fucking pathetic.'

.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year you gave up on me, the year I failed.

.

'Maybe, maybe you should think about someone else for a change, somebody other than yourself. Maybe you could try not being so self-absorbed. See how that works out for you.' His words, voice were harsh. I felt myself flinching backwards.

_Sticks and stones…_

What a ridiculous, illogical saying. Words are harsher than physical pain. Emotional is forever, scarring, tainting your memory. Physical pain heals. Emotional doesn't.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? You hurt me; you hurt me in ways that should not exist.

.

'Maybe you should get out of my life entirely,' Emmett shrugged. He began to turn away from me, sliding me off. Forgetting about me. My eyes widened, becoming plastic orbs stuck to my face ._Maybe you should get out of my life entirely. Get out of my life. Get out._Something tugged in my chest; I felt a burning, a hole ripping itself through my body.

'Emmett!' I gasped, forcing a hand to my chest. 'Emmett, something is wrong.' I felt my guts twisting around themselves, withering. An empty space is forced upon my stomach. 'Emmett,' I sob. 'Help!'

'Oh, stop trying to get my attention,' he mutters, turning on his heel, disgust painted across his face. I stand on the pavement, watching him walk away from me. My chest jerks in utter agony and I am convinced that I am dying. Rain slams down to earth, smudging my carefully applied makeup. The makeup that had I produced just to impress Emmett. The rain soaks my clothes, making them see-through and tacky. The rain drenches my hair, uncurling it. The hair that I had spent over an hour perfecting just for Emmett. The mud slowly washes from my body and I am left naked and alone.

And I realise that the pain in my chest is actually my heart, and that I am not dying, I am just incurable.

.

Don't be afraid, Emmett. I forgive you. It's too late to hold grudges. It's too late to be scared.

.

I watched as the brown curls slid away from me, converting into the crowd, disappearing from view. And then I began to run. I could not let him walk away from me, I could not allow him to leave me forever. I am a girl who is alone, I cannot lose Emmett. He is, when it boils down to it, the only thing that I have. He is my life source, my oxygen.

.

I see the car before he does.

.

Sometimes it feels as though the whole world is against you, as though the very mother nature is rebelling against you. The wind drags you back, the rocks trip you up, the leaves cover your eyes, the sticks prick your skin, the dirt clogs your senses. But you have to keep going, you have to carry on. You can't give up, not when it's a matter of life and death. You _have_to weather on. Because there's just no other option.

'Emmett!' I scream, lungs bursting, heart pumping. My legs push powerfully forward, the muscles stretching, flexing. Still I am not fast enough. 'Emmett, watch out!' I scream, voice coarse, urgent, scared, desperate. 'Emmett, please!' I run, pushing through the thin crowd. 'Emmett, look out!' My plea is silent.

He does not see the approaching car. His anger blinding him. He does not hear the squeal of rubber, the cries of pedestrians, the scream of me. He is walking, the car is driving. He will not make it.

He does not make it.

.

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year you tried to leave me, you tried to take your life away from me.

.

I feel myself propel forwards, my broken heels tripping me. 'Emmett!' I scream, thrusting my hands out in front of me. I land on the road, right next to Emmett's feet. I feel his eyes on my face before the world lands in darkness. There is a mighty crash as the car hits us both, knocking the breath and life from me. _And I find peace._

_._

Do you remember when we were twenty, Emmett? It was the year that we died holding hands. Our blood tainting the road, the chaos erupting around us. But none of that mattered, because as I looked into your eyes, my vision slowly fading, I saw _trust,_I saw _hope._And best of all I saw _love._

.

'This will only hurt a bit,' the blonde haired, perfection of a man whispers. His lips are smiling, but his eyes tell a different tale. My senses come alive as he stabs his teeth through my neck, a thick poison courses through my veins. I am on fire, I am burning. But I am not alone, I have Emmett. And for the moment, that's enough.

Love will always find a way.

.

Do you remember when we were human, Emmett?  
It was that period of life of when the innocence blanket disappeared. Completely.

Do you remember when we were human, Emmett?

I do.

.

_Author's Note: I completely, one-hundred percent realise that this entire 'fic is full of tense changes, and awkward narration style. For example – Rosalie appears to be speaking to Emmett for the first portion of this story, and the audience for the next. I'd like to say that it was intentional, and was simply written to confuse the reader. The sections of where Emmett is written as 'Emmett' and not as 'you' are the flashbacks, or the descriptions. I'm honestly not entirely sure – I'm simply editing all my grammar issues. This story was obviously my thirteen-year-old attempt at risqué. _

_Also, this is dedicated to prettyandpink2 who is utterly amazing and wrote a fic' based off of this. You should totally check it out; it's crazy cute._


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